


Fire in Her Eyes

by Melony



Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Other, Parent Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-01-27 02:25:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1711562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melony/pseuds/Melony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We all know that Tony Stark is bound to have sired a child or two during his time as a partying playboy...<br/>He certainly never expected one to be able to slip into his tower unannounced to personally deliver a special request.</p>
<p>"I need you to adopt me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mask

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first real fanfiction, and I need feedback to let me know people actually like me.  
> Any constructive criticism will be gladly accepted.  
> Hater flames, however, shall be used to boil my tea water.
> 
> Rating are going to go up as things get more intense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone who has read this before! I've redone my chapters so that they're less broken up and more... cohesive, for lack of a better word. I'm back in black and will be posting more soon.

Have you ever had a fantasy? One that seemed so real you could have sworn it was? I just had one. In it I slammed my hand against the mirror so hard it fractures into hundreds of pieces. I’ve been having these things go through my head with surprising frequency the last few hours. I don’t know if I should be worried about it just yet. After all, grief does funny things to your brain. I’m hoping they’ll go away once I’m not under so much stress. It’s easier to cope with the when they only happen once every few months. Someone knocked loudly, impatiently, startling me out of my musings. I pulled my veneer back on. I’m just another twenty-something heading to New York to get their big break. . . I am not terrified of heading towards a panic attack. (so alone, so long, can I make it?) I pulled myself out of the tiny airplane bathroom, narrowly avoided being rundown by the Impatient Knocker, and started walking down the aisle back to my seat. I resisted the urge to plop down ungracefully and forced myself to stay still. It worked, except my hands were shaking lightly. It could be worse. I could be afraid of flying. Still, aviophobia is a common enough fear that I could use it as an excuse if anyone noticed. Just a half hour more, and the plane will land. I am going to grab my suitcase, prance off the plane excitedly, and pretend that I actually give a damn that I’m in New York. Another aspiring actress. Totally forgettable.

 

Right?


	2. Big Apple Anxiety

I kept a plastic smile plastered on my face, using it to mask the lump in my throat. My eyes weren't glassy with anxiety; they were shiny and star struck. I still needed my mask for a few more minutes… I located a public bathroom and slid into a stall, flicking the lock closed. It was superficial protection at best, but it helped to loosen the painful knot of anxiety bundled on my sternum. I could breathe without forcing it. I was locked alone in a stall and afraid and people were talking with voices reverberating noise and light and stimulus- stop! I need to calm, to focus, block out the distractions… you’re not allowed to have a panic attack just yet. Okay. I clicked open my briefcase, pulling the lid up. Order, pure and simple. Clothes and essentials, packed neatly into a rectangular prism. I took out the small makeup kit, opening the compact to check my face. I needed some highlighting around my tired eyes, some blush that had rubbed off, and to change my lip color from nude to red. Freshening up my makeup was easy, repetitive, calming. I need to keep my head. Anxiety still pulsed in every part of me, but it was a little easier as I adopted another role. A strong business woman, beautiful and intelligent. I closed everything up again, patting my pocket to make sure my money and ID card were still there. I flushed the toilet, exiting the stall after a few moments, and exited the stall. Washing my hands only kept up the pretense. I don’t know how much longer I can make it holding myself together like this. I've never had to be alone this long… I picked my suitcase up again, steeling my nerves for what could be the most terrifying part of my journey- a taxi ride. May god have mercy on my soul.  


I stepped precariously close to the edge of the sidewalk, rolled my shoulders out to emphasize my chest, and tried to wave down a taxi. It took me five minutes to make one stop, and I leapt in the back. It took even more will power not to gag. Instead, I made eye contact with the driver and told him to get me to Stark Tower. The next minutes of my life were spent fervently praying to nearly every deity I knew of. I’m never riding in a taxi again. When the taxi screeched to a halt, I threw enough money at the driver and climbed out gladly, my knuckles white from clenching my briefcase. After that odyssey, nothing should frighten me for a long time. I schooled my expression back into professionalism, straitening myself up. I’m short enough to be underestimated, curvy enough to be thought of as a woman, and well-spoken enough to appear a college graduate. As long as I walk with purpose and look like I’m from accounting, I’ll do fine. I started walking to the door, purposefully but not hurriedly. I saw a woman walking towards me, roughly my height and build. She even had my auburn hair and slightly Asiatic features. She was busy with her phone, a clip-on badge dangling carelessly from a jacket shoved halfway in her purse. I kept my pace, subtly eyeing the badge. It was barely clipped on… should I risk it? I’d heard the Head of Security for Stark Industries was excessively controlling. I might not be able to blend in without it. Just as I was right next to her, the woman tripped. I instinctively grabbed at her to prevent her from falling, one of my hands ending up on her purse. Perfect! I snatched the badge, pocketing it as I helped her back up strait. I quipped something friendly at her, then kept going. A few steps later I pulled out my badge and clipped it on as if I was just returning from break. Apparently now I’m Mary Reeve from Human Resources. The door was open and I walked right in, nobody giving me a second glance. I’m actually doing this. My heart rate picked up and I did my best to calm it, slowing my breathing down. I found an elevator that wasn't occupied and slipped inside, pressing the highest floor that didn't require a pass code. Now all I have to do is wait and pray that nobody questions me… Also, these elevators are damn fast. I was able to get to floor seventy-two before things got secretive. Very well then. Stark tower has ninety-three floors. I have fifteen flights of stairs to cover. I'm so glad that I have excellent calves. 

I have made a mistake in thinking fifteen flights of stairs wouldn't really suck. Horribly. My legs are burning. My lungs are burning. If I weren’t so damn stubborn I would have given up about four flights ago. I sat down in the stairwell, resting my forehead against the blessedly cool metal of the guard rail. One more flight to go… the thought was appealing yet terrifying. One more flight of stairs and I’d be done. One more flight of stairs and I’d have to face him. Tony Stark, genius billionaire philanthropist… and my biological father. He probably doesn’t even know that I exist. The burning in my lungs was beginning to subside, but I still had that horrible knot of anxiety on my sternum. The cool, small space of the blandly colored stairwell soothed me. The statistical probability of someone finding me are so slim they’re laughable. It’s an odd sort of safety, but I clung to it. If my body didn’t hurt so badly, I’m pretty sure I would be having a full-on panic attack. 

Just thinking about it made panic swell within me, my heart hammering against sore ribs. My throat closed up and I could feel electricity buzz through my muscles, the familiar sensation of having far too much energy in my body. Where it came from, I don’t know. I just focused on breathing slowly, shoving my anxiety down and maintaining pressure. I can’t break down here. I’m so close. I came so far to do this; I have to see it through. I did not spend all my savings on a one-way ticket, fly across the gorram country alone, bluff my way into Stark Tower, and climb fourteen flight of stairs just to falter one flight away from my objective. I’m far too stubborn to stop now. 

I opened my briefcase and took out blotting pads, using two in my quest to remove all excess oil from my face. Then I transferred my manila envelope to the outer pocket, resealing the case. I laced my heels back on, stood up, and squared my shoulders. Look out Mr. Stark, because I’m plausibly more teenager than you can handle.


	3. Intelligent System

I feel like an idiot. 

I’m standing in front of a door, staring numbly at the handle. It’s a plain door, unlocked, and perfectly safe. Except it’s not. Once I open this door, there is absolutely no going back. I’ll be in His living area. His territory. I can’t back out once I open the door into… the Twilight Zone. The hokey music that started playing in my head made a smile come to my face, and gave me the courage to raise my hand to the knob. The metal was cool and totally unordinary. I pressed my ear against the wood, straining to hear. Nobody was in the room. Unless, of course, they were totally still. That was unlikely. After a steadying breath, I turned the handle and opened the door. I could hear the various people in my head asking if that was so hard and I told them, yes, it was extremely hard. Then I cited all the reasons why. They shut up after that little exchange. I was in a living room, that much was clear. It was tastefully modern and absolutely immaculate. Oh shit- my badge! I unclipped it from my shirt and slipped it into one of my pockets. I needed it to get in, but I didn't want to meet Him wearing something I stole from an employee. That would make me seem dishonest and light fingered. 

“Ma’am? Is there something I can help you with?” A British accented voice suddenly spoke. I gasped, whirling around to see… nobody. What? My anxiety peaked again. This was a stupid idea. Who knows what Tony Stark would have in his freakishly immaculate living room? I’m going to die! Okay, maybe not die, but get in major trouble. I should probably respond and verify if that was an auditory hallucination or not, but my throat had closed up. Goddamn selective mutism! I could still breathe, which was a good sign, but I felt the familiar tension across my vocal chords. I tried to speak past it, but all that came out was an embarrassing high-pitched noise. It suddenly occurred to me that they’re probably just some bloke from Security talking into a microphone somewhere. 

“Who’re you?” I managed to ask, my voice quieter and rougher than usual. 

“Just A Rather Very Intelligent System, ma’am.” Was that amusement in their voice? “I’m afraid that if you cannot identify yourself, I shall have to signal an Intruder Alert.” The only thing that prevented me from panicking again was the fact that they said system. 

“My name is Amaryllis Huntley. I’m here to see Mr. Stark.” It was easier to talk now that curiosity was overtaking my earlier panic. “Just a rather very intelligent system, did you say? Are you an AI?” I questioned, intrigued by the prospect. An artificial intelligence, and a well-functioning one at that if Stark wrote the code. 

“That I am, Miss Huntley.” The voice replied coolly. I’m seriously picturing a British equivalent of Lieutenant Sub commander Data right now. I wonder if living here is like being on Star Trek? Suddenly, a thought occurred to me. Just a rather very intelligent system, with emphasis on the first letter. Was their name an acronym? 

“Is your name JARVIS, by any chance?” I asked, curiosity overtaking the last of my caution. “If so, what is your function?” If JARVIS had sensors that could detect me and was wired into a speaker system, there must be some reason he was created. 

“My functions are many, Miss Huntley. What is the nature of your business with Mr. Stark?” Was JARVIS avoiding my question on purpose, or did he have too many functions to list efficiently? I filed away that query for later. 

“I need to speak with Mr. Stark. It’s a fairly urgent matter, one that cannot wait.” Anxiety started to creep in again. What if He rejects me? What will happen then? 

“Who’re you?” A male voice asked, suspicious and slightly rough. I inhaled instinctively, smelling grease and metal. There was an odd machine signature, faint buy steady. Did He have a miniature generator with him? 

The woman- girl really, she couldn’t have been older than twenty- turned to face me. Damn, she was a looker. Medium length, layered auburn hair; Brown, almond-shaped eyes with thin black liner; slight gold-tinted blush on high cheekbones; full lips, painted red; slightly wide nose and strong jawline. Her overall skin color was golden yet fair. Just the right blend of European and Asian features to look exotic almost anywhere. Her skirt was a red and black hounds tooth pattern, tapered to fit across both wide hips and a small waist, and ended mid-calf. Off-white silk shirt with short sleeves, a floral lace v in the front, and a mandarin collar. Imitation saddle shoes, black, with a two inch heel maximum. Her hose were the vintage sort, with the line running up the back of the leg. She tucked her hair behind one ear, showing simple pearl studs. Real pearl. Her nails matched both the skirt and her lipstick. She was unnaturally still, probably resisting from fidgeting. It’s like someone combined a vintage pin-up girl and a porcelain doll. I raised my eyebrows at her. She still hadn’t answered my question yet. 

“Mr. Stark.” I said politely, giving him a small nod. Oh god oh god oh god-he’s here-he’s looking at me-it’s my dad-does he like me? Should I care? Does it matter? I hoped my business like veneer was holding well enough. “My name is Amaryllis Huntley. I’m your daughter.” He flinched, his whole body spasming for just a moment. Five entire seconds passed during which he gaped at me, looking for all the world like a carp with a goatee. 

“Prove it.” I pulled the manila envelope from the pocket of my briefcase, holding it out to Him. 

“Everything is in here. All the proper documentation that shows you’re my biological father.” He stared at me distrustingly, not taking the envelope. After an extremely tense moment, I put my briefcase down, walked a few steps to my right, and put the envelope down on a glass coffee table. Then I turned back to look Him in the eye. “Mr. Stark, I realize how distressing this is for you-” “Do you? I find some random girl on my floor- how did you even manage to get up here?-claiming to be my daughter.“ He blurted out. I had to swallow down my flash of anger at his words, even though they were perfectly justified. Should I maintain eye contact? I don’t want to seem like I’m lying to Him or backing down. 

“Forgive me if I seem… crass or ill-mannered. I’m bluntly honest. I’m here for one reason and one reason alone. I need you to adopt me.” His mouth gaped open at the little declaration. Obviously he didn't expect me to say that. “My adoptive parents are dead. I have no other next of kin. Mr. Stark, I’m not here for money or fame or easy living. All I ask from you is that you become my legal guardian and provide for me a place to sleep. It doesn't matter if it’s in a warehouse somewhere; all I need is a cot and a kitchenette. I can manage my affairs and ensure that I graduate. If you send me back now, I will become a ward of the state and placed in foster care. I’m…” My voice caught in my throat for a second. Isn't this much longer than people normally hold eye contact? Oh well.” I am far too pretty to run the risk of being placed with a family of… unscrupulous moral character.” I knew there was fear in my eyes, tightness in my lips as I spoke. I was standing stock-still, making damn sure I kept eye contact. It doesn't matter that it feels wrong to look Him in the eyes. At least I know I have His full attention. 

I couldn't even process what was happening. My daughter- if she really is mine- expects me to send her off to live in a warehouse?! Graduate? How old is she? Who was her mother? She’s right, she’s too pretty. She could be taken advantage of. How is she so sure that she’s-? Suddenly I saw every bit of me in her face. The brown eyes, her chin, eyebrows are similar, the way she’s hyper focusing… 

“How do you know?” My voice came out weird and a bit hoarse. She smiled at me, her eyes getting all crinkly. I really need to learn this kid’s name. 

“It’s all in the envelope.” She giggled a bit nervously. “Feel free to run the DNA test again.” DNA? DNA? If she’s gotten her DNA tested against mine and it came back positive, why the hell didn’t I know about her before now? Pepper. I need Pepper, now. She knows what to do. There’s probably some protocol or procedure for this. Maybe. 

“Tony? Who’s this?” Oh, there she is.


	4. Pepper Learns The Secret

There was a tall, willowy strawberry blonde walking up to us, dressed in well-tailored professional clothing and- holy fuck, how do those heels even exist?! Oh. This must be the famous Pepper Potts. What do I do? I fell back on my manners. People like it when you’re polite to them. 

“Miss Potts.” I said sweetly, my hands clasped demurely and a small smile on my face. “My name is Amaryllis Huntley.” She was confused, eyeing me like I could be anything from a severely lost intern to a threat that needed to be dealt with. Note to self, don’t antagonize Miss Potts. She’s got moxie. Also, those heels count as deadly weapons. 

“Amaryllis says that she’s my daughter. Hasn't done much to prove it, though.” He said, a little smirk on his lips. Playful? I think that’s what he’s emoting. 

“I brought along proper evidence. You’re just scared to open the envelope.” I challenged Him lightly. Maybe that would be enough to make him look at my documents. 

“Scared? You think I’m scared to open an envelope?” He was looking at me again, chest angled towards me. Leaning forward slightly. Aggressive? Was I not supposed to challenge? I don’t want to lose any favor I may have currently. Shit shit shit, what do I do now? 

“What exactly is this envelope you’re talking about?” Miss Potts was using an Alpha voice now. I grabbed my manila envelope, bringing it to Pepper. 

“All the proper documentation is in here, Miss Potts.” I said pleasantly, holding it out to her. Miss Potts took it from me, still emoting suspicion. I think. She pulled some of the papers out, glancing through them quickly. Some of the color drained from her cheeks. Eyes widening. Lips press together. Surprise, shock, fear? She slipped the papers back in, squaring her shoulders and looking down at me resolutely. Why am I always the shortest? 

“Let’s sit down and discuss this.” Miss Potts said coolly, business like and poised. Protective? I am encroaching on her territory, after all. I obediently sat myself down on the couch, back strait and hands folded in my lap. 

“Family meeting.” He chimed in, plopping down on the couch. Limbs splayed out to take up as much room as possible. Very typically masculine. There was a far-off look on his face, but not a dreamy one. Is that the face I get when I’m reviewing my mental archives? Miss Potts perched next to Him, arranging the contents of my manila envelope in front of her. Miss Potts locked eyes with me, and I felt anxiety swell up in my chest. Don’t break eye contact; you don’t want to seem weak. It doesn’t matter that Miss Potts can be very, very scary. Her eyes softened after a few moments, and my lips twitched up into a hopeful half-smile. Fuck yeah, it pays to be cute and a touch vulnerable. 

“Where are your adoptive parents?” My face blanked out, and I knew horrible things could be seen in my eyes. Twisting, churning, roiling emotions that bubbled like oily tar in my stomach. Too vulnerable, too much, too- 

“Dead.” I said. One word, whispered hoarsely. I swallowed, my throat thick. There must be tears starting, but they can’t start yet! I need to get myself a safe place, then I can break down. Then I can mourn. Then I can fall apart and eat chocolate and cry myself to sleep. Wake up, make tea, and put cucumber slices on my puffy eyes. Now I need to negotiate. Now I can’t be so vulnerable. I cleared my throat. “All I need is a place to stay and for Mr. Stark to agree to be my legal guardian. If not, Social Services will pick me up and put me into foster care. As much as I would love to trust the system, I can’t run the risk of ending up with an abusive family. I’m far too pretty.” I leaned forward slightly, seeing Miss Potts mirror my actions unconsciously. I have her full attention. “A cot and a kitchenette are all I require. I can tend to my affairs, see that I graduate with honors, and have relative financial stability by the time I come of age. I’m not here for fame or money; I’m here because there’s a much lower statistical likelihood of me being abused. May I stay?” My heart hammered in my chest and I felt my core temperature shoot up. I just gambled my gorram life with one little question. If Miss Potts says no, I am so humped. It felt like there were hot coals inside of me, searing my insides and making my skin boil. I couldn’t talk if I tried. Miss Potts was absolutely still, eyes wide and blank. Mouth hanging open. I know that face. It means “difficulty comprehending stimuli”, otherwise known as “what the fuck just happened?!?” Miss Potts needs time to process my words. I glanced over. He seemed to pull out of his mind space, giving a little nod. Has He figured out who my mother is? Finally, Miss Potts leaned back and slumped into the couch, totally graceless. 

“I need a drink.” She said. Oh. I must have overwhelmed her.


	5. Family Meeting

Wow, the kid looks tiny next to Pepper. She’s really short. Is Amaryllis scared of her? She got all stiff again when she saw Pepper. That’s weird, why would Pepper be scary? Oh. She’s got her Boss face going. The kid introduced herself nicely, confusing Pepper even more. 

“Amaryllis here says she’s my daughter. Hasn't done much to prove it, though.” I smirked, teasing her lightly to see how she’d react. She over at me and scanned my face for a second. 

“I brought along proper evidence, you’re just scared to open the envelope.” Amaryllis shot back, rising to my challenge. Hey, snark battle! Wait- 

“Scared? You think I’m scared to open an envelope?” Yeah right, I just don’t like to be handed things. Especially from pretty young things that randomly appear in my tower. Her expression wavered for a second, going from confusion to panic. Why is she panicking? 

“What exactly is this envelope you’re talking about?” Pepper asked with her skip-the-bullshit tone of voice. Must have been a long day for her. Amaryllis went back to being sweet and demure, bringing the envelope to Pepper. Please don’t tell me she’s got multiple personalities or something. Maybe she’s sucking up to Pepper because she seems scared of her. Pepper glanced through the papers, shock apparent on her face. Then she collected herself and decided we should sit around the coffee table and talk this over. 

“Family meeting.” I quipped, sitting down on the couch next to Pepper. She had the pages spread out, and it was all here. Birth certificate, DNA tests, even her school transcripts. Maybe Amaryllis is a Girl Scout or something. I let Pepper lead, scanning Amaryllis again. I could see all the features she got from me, but what about her mother? The skin tone, cheek bones, and almond shaped eyes were all definitely not from my side. She was curvy too, so a curvy Asian I slept with? Maybe, but not likely. The red in her hair is natural, and there aren't that many redheads in my family. 

Wait, what? She said dead. Oh, she’s talking about her adoptive parents. That sucks. So, a busty Asian/Caucasian woman, about eighteen years ago… Come on, a mix like that shouldn't be that hard to remember. She’s small, so that cuts out the tall ones too. Oh. Shit. It must have been Her. She looked a hell of a lot like Amaryllis. She was very stretchy too. All of a sudden, Pepper slumped back onto the couch. I think that’s the longest I've stayed silent in my life. What did I miss? 

“I need a drink.” She said dryly. I should get her one, looks like she needs it. Hell, I need a drink too. Drinks for everyone! 

“Scotch, Vodka, Whiskey? You know I only get the good stuff.” I asked, already on my way to the nearest alcohol. Ah, vodka martini and olives. Pepper is fond of that one. 

“I would like a Vodka martini.” She ordered dryly. “With plenty of olives. At least three.” Oops. Am I that overwhelming, or is it the fact I’m a random girl that showed up with very strong proof that I’m His daughter? Maybe it’s because Miss Potts expected someone very different than me. Also, I did kind of invade their living space, didn't I? That would add to the stress of the situation. He came back with a vodka martini in one hand and a glass of pretty scotch in the other. They’re called tumblers, right? Either way, I liked the color of the drink and the way the light refracted in the glass. Most of the lights were warm colored, reds and oranges. Rarer but still there were flashes of cool tones. The amber liquid swirled in the glass, making the lights dance. Pieces of ice clinked against the sides and brought out shimmering blues. Dashes of rich purple mingled in the red tones. It was surprisingly harmonious. A cough caught my attention, and I looked back at Miss Potts. Moments later, I realized what had happened and blushed. 

“Sorry, I like the way that light refracts through glass.” I explained with a sheepish smile. Oops. Hey, look, watching the pretty scotch calmed me down. Awesome. Miss Potts gave me an indulgent smile, crinkles forming around her eyes. I know that face. It means I’m cute. 

“You have some fairly solid evidence here, Miss Huntley.” Miss Potts said, businesslike but more relaxed now. She took a sip of her martini. “Convincing Social Services that Tony is a fit parent will certainly take some doing, but there’s a slim chance it would work. Do you have any Godparents or next of kin that would be competing for our custody?” 

“Hey, I could be a good dad!” He interjected, looking vaguely put off. “Plus, It wouldn't be that hard to slip my way into Social Services mainframe and-“ 

“No, Tony. This has to be done legally.” Miss Potts was adamant, looking over at him with a stone Buddha head face. Impressive. Not many Caucasians I've met can pull off that look without seeming constipated. Miss Potts looked back at me. 

“No Godparents, I have aunts and uncles on both sides of the family that’ll probably want custody. I should be able to convince them otherwise with the proper evidence.” I reported dutifully. 

“How did you even get an adoptive family, anyway?” He butted in before I could answer. 

“Her mother put her up for adoption; she’s been living with the couple that adopted her when she was little.” Miss Potts informed Him. Wrong! I felt myself start to list to the left, and quickly adjusted so that I was upright. Oh no. Exhaustion is starting to set in. I probably have an hour at best until I’ll be too tired to think. My day’s going to be catching up with me. Miss Potts looked back at me. 

“You’re tired, aren't you? How long have you been awake?” Miss Potts asked me, looking concerned. I guess she saw me listing. 

“Ummm… what time is it?” I asked. I’d been awake for quite a while. 

“It’s six in the afternoon, Miss Huntley.” Miss Potts told me, seeming a little surprised. At least I think she is. Ok, so six p.m. New York time would be ten a.m. California time. I woke up the day before yesterday at four in the morning. Two days is 48 hours, plus 6 would be… 

“Roughly fifty-four hours, Miss Potts.” I reported, looking down and blushing shamefully at the look she gave me. Normally, I would sleep as much as I could, but the past few days were a special circumstance. Two days ago, I pulled an all-nighter to finish a school project. Last night, I’d celebrated getting an A+ by drinking an entire half-liter of Mountain Dew. Not the best idea. “I don’t mean to be alarming, but I've got an hour maximum before I’m going to pass out.”


	6. Guest Room

Silence. Absolute, bloody ringing silence as they both stared at me. I was mortified. 

“Well, in that case, let’s set you up in a room for the night.” He said, getting up from the couch and downing the last of his scotch. My eyes got wide. “No biggie, there’s plenty of guest rooms. Unless you have somewhere else to crash?” He looked over at me, and I shook my head no. 

“I’m not sure that’s the best idea, Tony.” Miss Potts said reluctantly. Her face was kind or pinched looking. Debating. Keeping me could look bad, but throwing me to the wolves isn't exactly a good option either. 

“Where else could she stay, in a hotel somewhere? Come on, Pep, it’s better than just sending her back.” Wait, is He pleading my case? Am I actually wanted, or just a curiosity to poke at? Miss Potts took a breath, letting it out slowly. 

“I’m going to check the employee records to see if any of the staff or their spouse fosters children. If they’re trustworthy enough, Miss Huntley can stay with them while all of this is being sorted out. Is that alright with you?” Miss Potts looked over at me, actually asking for my permission. Well, perhaps not permission but if I’ll work with her. I need to think. Thinking’s getting harder. 

“I want to meet the person before I’m sent off to them. I get to say if I don’t like them.” This is scary, but manageable. Oh, hey, the lights are getting a bit dim. Stark Industries employees chosen by Miss Potts should be relatively safe. I just need to know they can work with me. “If any of them foster special needs children, that would work the best.” Breathing is hard right now. I have to concentrate so I get enough air. Miss Potts gave me a funny look. 

“Wait, you’re special needs?” The question was spoken a little too loudly for my comfort. I turned my head in His direction but couldn't look them in the eye. I hate that question. 

“I’m abnormal. People that foster special needs children do tend to be more accepting of that.” That was the only answer I could give without launching into a long description about how my thought processes differed from the average person. I looked back at Miss Potts. Her expression changed. Smoother muscles, more relaxed. Funny look in the eyes. I don’t know what that expression means right now. This is scary, what will she say? What will happen? Oh god, my social algorithms are failing! 

“We can look over the files together over lunch tomorrow, how about that? You can help pick out the people for you to meet.” Miss Potts had a soft voice, soothing. I nodded, liking the idea. I’ll help screen out people I might not work well with. I untangled my hands from my skirt, where they had been horribly wrinkling the fabric over my lap. When had that happened? I haven’t made eye contact in a while, should I? I don’t know what will be in their eyes. Fuck it, I've been through too much today. I can figure shit out later. 

“Tony, why don’t you show Miss Huntley to a room?” Miss Potts suggested. He got up from the couch, giving Miss Potts a peck on the cheek. I got up as well, grabbing my suitcase and following Him to where ever I’d be sleeping tonight. 

Then, the talking happened…


	7. Motor Mouth Manic Man

“So, I guess you’re pretty curious what it’s like living in a tower, huh? Expect lots of shiny tech and robot servants? I’ve got that- Well, not the robot servants but the tech. Tech is why I don’t have robots for each thing. It’s all automated, interconnected, and with little to no lag time- Hey! By the way, JARVIS is everywhere. Literally. If you need anything, just ask. He can make anything you want appear- just don’t go crazy with it! Still don’t know if you’re the real McCoy or not. We've got awesome wifi, so feel free to web search. You have a cell phone, right? I haven’t seen you with one. Of course you’d have a phone, you’re a kid- All kids have phones now-a-days. It’s probably one of those horrible Apple products with a stupid screen saver. Do you have clothes? I hope you have clothes. You don’t look like you’d be able to borrow from Pepper- You seem smart? You've probably got a set in that briefcase, don’t you? If you don’t just tell JARVIS. Can’t have naked kids running around my tower. Speaking of running around, see this thing in the wall? It marks where sections of the tower start and stop. So far you’re allowed in the kitchen, communal area, and library- Yes, I have a library with actual books- I thought you’d like it since you seem bookish and kind of nerdy. Not bad nerdy, just… nerdy. Anyway, JARVIS will tell you if you enter an area you’re not supposed to- He also calls security if you don’t listen to him when he says to leave somewhere, so just don’t. It probably seems like a cage, but it’s not. There’s a lot of pretty dangerous experiments happening that could blow up in your face if you poke them. Literally, they explode when poked. Plus, I don’t want you getting lost. That already happens to my employees. Sometimes I think they do it on purpose. If you hear an explosion or the fire alarm goes off, just stay calm. Unless you’re on fire. Then you can panic. Just make sure you panic in the direction of a fire extinguisher, they’re stashed everywhere. Every floor of the tower has about a dozen or so, usually more. I still don’t know how you got to this floor. Happy’s going to have a fit when he learns you got up here without raising any alarms. He’s my Forehead of Security, by the way. Don’t call him that until you’re sure he likes you. It’s an inside joke. I hope you don’t like strawberries. Pepper is allergic, so there aren't any in the tower. This is the only strawberry-free skyscraper in New York. All other fruits are fine, though. Oh, are you allergic to anything? No? That’s good, allergies aren't fun to have. I don’t have any allergies either. Well, except to stupid people. They make me break out in stinging sarcasm. It’s different from my normal sarcasm, although some people can’t tell the difference. Woah, easy there! Don’t fall over! You really are tired, aren't you? Two nights of not sleeping and an eight-hour time zone change will do that to you. Trust me, I know. You’ll feel a lot better once you get some sleep. C’mon, kid, it’s not that much farther. In fact, here it is! There’s a full bathroom attached, but I wouldn't recommend drawing yourself a bath until after you've slept for a while. You can have JARVIS wake you up, or just sleep until you do that by yourself. Try not to roll out of the bed, kid.”


	8. Chapter 8

Once I got into my room, I wanted nothing more than to get out of my fancy things. My outer clothes were quickly taken off and draped over a padded wooden chair. I took more care with my shoes and nylons, but got them off in record time as well. My slip and underthings are cotton, and okay to be cried upon. Oh, god… I grabbed the darkest pillow from the bed and ran into the connecting bathroom, clicking the lock shut. Instinctively, I sat down in the corner and curled into myself. 

Everything came pouring out of me, the tears, the emotions, the screaming I hadn't done… I wrapped my arms around the pillow and buried my face into it, part for comfort and part to muffle the shrieking. After a few minutes I pulled my face out again and scrabbled for the roll of toilet paper, using some to blow my nose so I could breathe. I could barely get enough oxygen in between sobs, brief moments where my lungs filled up with air. It hurt and felt good at the same time, like stretching a muscle a bit too far after you've been still for a while. Oh god oh god oh god, they’re dead! My parents! The people who raised me! They really fucked up and in some ways I don’t miss them, but they were epic in others and oh god, they can’t be gone! I’m alone, I’m alone, I’m alone, I can’t be alone- please come back. I need- I need- I need someone! I can’t be so alone! My heart was thumping and I was burning up. My eyes were already puffy and quite probably bloodshot. My throat was swollen and scratchy, raw from what I was putting it through. I’m so, so tired… 

It’s nice here, black and calm. Heavy… there’s a word for this. Sedate. Peaceful. Amaryllis. Oh, crap, a four-syllable word… that means I’m waking up. Why am I waking up? 

“Amaryllis!” Oh, that voice is shrill! I cracked one eye open, nearly hissing at the bright light. 

“Hi Miss Potts.” I said, my voice horribly rough. Oh, god, my joints! They hate me right now. Like, hate hate hate. My brain feels loose. “Meds!” I exclaimed, pulling myself into a sitting position. 

“Meds?” Miss Potts was confused. “For what?” 

“It’s eleven thirty a.m. Miss Huntley. I stopped by to pick you up for lunch.” Miss Potts glanced over my disheveled clothes. Oh god, I must look like a wreck! I wanted to curl up into myself and keep anybody else from seeing me. “I think you’d rather have lunch in, wouldn't you?” The tone of her voice got different, sweet and soothing. Less loud. Trying to keep me calm. I giggled as a thought rose unbidden in my mind.

“Got any cold cream?” I asked, grinning. I love making references to things and events from before I was born. Miss Potts cocked her head to one side, confused. There was something in her eyes, though. It kind of looked like… love? No, that’s too much too fast. I must be misreading it. I just woke up. Maybe it’s amusement. I’m cute and little and rumpled. Miss Potts recovered in a few seconds. 

“No cold cream, but I do have some wonderful makeup remover.” She informed me, sitting down on the floor near me. Good, squatting in heels and an a-line skirt does horrible things to your joints. Hmmm, makeup remover… not always my friend. 

“Is it oil-free?” I asked Miss Potts. For some reason, that caused her to get this knowing little smile. Without context, it’s actually a bit frightening. Powerful boss lady knows. 

“Let me guess, you have oily skin that’s prone to acne, sensitive to harsh chemicals, and gets tanned very easily?” Miss Potts asked, although it felt like a statement. Right on all three counts. Erm… okay. She can see I have oily skin, I've got a natural tan, but where did the chemicals bit come from? I’ll find out later, right now I want bacon. I nodded, showing her that she was correct. “I’ll go get the makeup remover; will you be fine by yourself for a while?” Miss Potts was treating me gently, like a porcelain doll. I don’t know if I should be offended or not. On one hand, I don’t want anyone to use kid gloves with me. One the other, I am liable to have a panic attack if triggered. Miss Potts seems so hesitant around me, restrained. 

“I’ll take a shower.” I said, starting to get up slowly. Oh! There are all the pain signals I knew would happen. Most of my muscles were in some state of sore, a few bones were protesting, and I may or may not have a burst blood vessel on my right hip. Miss Potts got up much more quickly than I did, hovering over me to see that I wouldn't fall. Is she seriously nurse maiding me? Maybe it’s leftovers from dealing with a hung-over Tony. Tony-oh god-what does he think of me? Stop it brain! No panicking! He thinks what he thinks, and I think he thinks words. Oh wow. I need my meds. “What’s eleven thirty minus six hours?” I wondered suddenly. My ribs were aching slightly. Not pleasant. 

“Five-thirty.” Miss Potts relied seamlessly. Huh. She’s comfortable with non sequiter conversation. Nice. “I’ll only be gone five minutes.” Then, she turned around and walked out. I heard the door click softly, signaling that she’d left. Okie dokie, first things first. I need my briefcase. I wandered back into the actual bedroom, gazing longingly at the unwrinkled sheets of the bed. The bathroom felt safer, but the bed looked much softer now. Sigh. I found my suitcase where I had abandoned it on the floor, clicking open the lock. In my hurry to get out here, guess what I’d forgotten to pack? Makeup remover. That could be symbolic. Not giving myself a way to easily unmasks myself. I pulled out the outfit I’d packed yesterday- was it really only yesterday? - As well as my toiletries, shutting the briefcase again. I stripped out of the rest of my clothes, wincing occasionally when I upset something sore or downright painful. I’m alone; it’s okay to show it hurts. I felt a familiar, but unwelcome sensation between my hips. 

Mother Nature… you’re a bitch.


	9. Spaceship Showers and Elven Ears

This shower… is a goddamn Spaceship! There’s the usual shower head, as well as panels along both sides that pivot. There’s a bloody interface where you can program temperature and water pressure and oh, you can have the jets squirt in time to your musical selection. 

“What sadistic soul crafted this over embellished water squirter?” I said in exasperation, running a hand through my hair. Too much tech. Way too much tech. Thankfully, there was still an on and off button. I poked at the interface, giving up after a few minutes. I took the top towel off of the stack, wrapping it around me and tucking the ends in securely. Then, in a stroke of good timing, the outer door clicked open. I poked my head out of the bathroom, locating Miss Potts. “How do you operate the spaceship shower, Miss Potts?” I remembered how many options the screen held. “On second thought, could you come show me?” I ducked back into the bathroom, hearing her heels click closer. Something small was set down something on the counter. 

“It’s difficult the first time, isn't it?” Miss Potts mused, skillfully navigating the options. “What type of showers do you like?” 

“Relatively hot, start with low water pressure, steady stream. Is there some sort of knob or dimmer switch that allows you to change the variables easily?” I replied, scowling at shower. The only thing that made up for its overabundance of tech was the fact that there was a Periodic Table of Elements shower curtain. Dude. It’s like the Big Bang Theory. 

“Not that I've discovered, no. Sometimes I think that Tony forgets how confusing some of his tech is if you haven’t encountered it before.” The shower turned on, not even sputtering. “How does that work?” Miss Potts asked. I stuck my hand in the stream, feeling for the temperature and pressure. 

“Perfect. I won’t take too long; you probably have a limited amount of time to deal with me.” I told Miss Potts. She gave me a look. 

“Take all the time you need, Miss Huntley. My schedule is clear for another two hours.” Then she left. Was it something I said? I have no idea. I grabbed a shower cap, stuffing my hair up into it. Then I dropped the towel and stepped into the spray. All my muscles started to relax slowly, easing under the hot water. The soap in here was natural and unscented, carefully unisex. I looked over the label, pleased that it was actually a natural soap, not just one with some natural ingredients. Oh crap, my face! I stepped out of the shower, easily spotting the bottle of makeup remover, a few white circles stacked next to it. Oh, they’re like cotton balls. That makes sense. The makeup remover was high-end, completely free of oil and moisture-sucking chemicals. An idea struck me, and I transferred some onto the cotton circle, dabbing it on random places of my face. I’m melting… melting! Wow I need my meds. Once my face was clear of the vestiges of my makeup, I stepped back into the shower and hurriedly washed up. I groaned every once in a while as I irritated my sore muscles. The skin on my right side was feeling a little bruised, probably because it had been pressed against bathroom tile for a few hours. It was a little more heat sensitive too. 

I suddenly realized that I was alone in the shower and nobody would hear me cry. 

No no no, stop it! We need to have lunch with Miss Potts, there’s no time for another breakdown! When did I become we? When I became alone, I suppose. Ice swept through my body and chilled me, making me numb yet painful. Oh god, they’re gone-I’m alone-No. I’m not alone. Miss Potts is somewhere near and there’s a friendly AI in the ceiling. That sounds weird. In the walls? Somewhere. Everywhere, if I believe Him. I chose to follow my geeky thoughts back up into my analytical, non-emotional part of my psyche. With social algorithms and bits of code floating in my head, I dried myself off with a fresh fluffy towel and lotioned my skin with a bottle I found in the medicine cabinet. Good stuff, like all the rest. There’s a surprising amount of natural things here for a futuristic phallic symbol that’s home to a wonderfully advanced AI. I took care of my grooming routine mechanically, going through my usual ritual. It was soothing because it was the same. Then I stood face-to-face with a decision: makeup or no makeup? If makeup, how much? I’m in the business world now, and makeup is expected of females. As much as I would love to bite my thumb at normality, I don’t want to stick out too much. Just enough so that I can’t be ignored. Miss Potts had already seen me smudged and running, so full makeup is too much. My skin is a bit pale and my eyes are puffy, although I knew that would go down in a few minutes. I could never figure out why I recovered for crying so easily. Natural makeup is best. Light foundation, natural blush. Pink-tinted chap stick. I paused for a second as a thought occurred to me. I could practically see it form letters then words, floating to frame my face. Should I look like him? I could easily use a touch of contouring to make my facial features more Caucasian, make the resemblance anywhere from noticeable to uncanny. It would be simple… No. That’s deceitful. Basic brown eye shadow with skinny black eyeliner, slightly winged. Subtle demi-lashes and some light shadow on the inner corners gave me innocent doe eyes. I love my face; using makeup is like painting by numbers. I slipped into my outfit and gave myself an once-over. I look too immature. I wiped off my pink-tinted chap stick, replacing it with one tinted red. Perfect. The reddish tone reflected red lipstick without seeming overdone. Oh god… I am made of bitch. I hate having to be so manipulative. Using makeup every day, ugh. I hope I have a relatively stable position soon. I hate posturing and sending the right messages and gorram social cues! I took a deep breath, packing everything back neatly into its container. Time to have lunch with Miss Potts. 

When I stepped back into the bedroom, I saw Miss Potts sitting primly on the end of the bed. She was occupied with her phone, lips pursed. Irritation. Should I get her attention? That might make her irritated with me as well. Suddenly she looked up at me, blinking. What do I do? I forced myself to relax a bit, giving Miss Potts a generic smile. Eye contact is happening. 

“Miss Huntley.” Miss Potts said nicely, putting her phone away with immediacy. “What would you like to have for lunch?” 

“Bacon.” I pretty much blurted out, blushing internally. “Baked potato. Plus some form of nutrient dense vegetable like spinach or kale. Collard greens are good too.” I expected Miss Potts to stare at me like I’m a freak, but what she actually did surprised me. 

“We have all of those, although not cooked. There’s a Lucille’s nearby that delivers, would you like to order something from there?” Miss Potts offered. Dude. Lucille’s Smokehouse Barbeque. I’m being offered expensive meat of awesome like it’s nothing! Guess it wouldn't be that much, if you’re the CEO of Stark Industries. Still, my middle-class upbringing dictated awe. Oh, wait, how long has it been? Eye contact is still going on. 

“We’re still staying here, right?” I asked. 

“Of course.” Miss Potts said. Good. As much as I love Lucille’s, they’re usually full. Full places mean noise and people and accidental contact. I can’t deal with that right now. 

“Ten ounce barbeque Tri Tip, collard greens for both the sides.” I stated my order from memory. Miss Potts had her mouth slightly open, as if she had been about to speak. Oops. She smiled politely, but with a tiny little crinkliness around her eyes. Oh good, Miss Potts probably isn't offended. 

“Would you like to have lunch in the room we were in before?” Miss Potts asked. I thought back to the cool, sterile room and how there was an entire wall made of glass. That room made me feel exposed and vulnerable, I don’t like it. Too much modernism and not enough comfort. 

“Is there somewhere that doesn't have a window wall?” I asked, pressing my lips together slightly. Seriously, who thought of replacing an entire wall with glass and steel? There’s got to be zero practicality involved in that. One good-sized earthquake and your wall shatters on you. 

“Of course, Miss Huntley. Please follow me.” With that, Miss Potts stood up and started walking. I quickly grabbed my notepad and pen from the pocket on the outside of my briefcase, following after Miss Potts and her clicking heels. They still scare me. Oh, meds! I slipped back inside and grabbed my pill bottle, glad that I had remembered. Miss Potts was still in the hallway, looking back at me patiently. I’m pretty sure this woman is a saint. It took a surprisingly short amount of time to get to the room Miss Potts had in mind. The room had warm, peachy colored walls, almost too pale to be noticed. Reddish wood floors, shiny and pretty. Cherry wood, I think. There was an actual fireplace too, with three cushy chairs nearby. It was big enough that I’m sure I could use it to travel by floo powder. In the center of the room was a couch next to a beautiful carved table. There was something comforting about the place, the way it almost looked thrown together. It was unusual and pretty and seemed… safe. I stepped inside, my hand trailing across a wall. The material was smooth and pleasing against my fingertips. I walked up to the fireplace, looking inside. Immaculate. I don’t think it’s ever actually been used, but it’s genuine. When I turned back around Miss Potts had sat down on the couch, placing documents in an organized grid pattern on the table. She was on the far side of the couch, giving me the entire rest of the couch to sit on. Is Miss Potts giving me space or subtly pushing me. Our eyes met for a second and Miss Potts seemed to be feeling kind right now. I chose a seat near her, but not immediately next to the high-powered ginger. I heard footsteps start to approach the room I was in, from the same door I had used. My head snapped up like my anxiety, wondering who was there. Security guard doing the rounds? Someone that’s a threat? Him? The footsteps were much too light for a man, and possibly made by heels. Shorter, more practical heels. 

“Is something wrong, Miss Huntley?” Miss Potts asked me. Her voice was confused, maybe a bit concerned. The ADHD head snap does tend to have that effect. 

“Somebody’s coming.” I said slowly, still wondering. 

“I can’t hear any-“Miss Potts stopped halfway through the word, and I looked back at her. She looked like she’d just heard the footsteps. “Thing…” She finished, trailing off. Miss Potts looked at me, her mouth ever so slightly open. “How did you hear that?” I blinked, my fandoms struggling for supremacy in my head. 

“I’m the descendant of King Aragorn and Queen Arwen. I have Elvish senses.” I explained, giving a little what-can-you-do smile. 

“That line was broken long ago.” Miss Potts said gravely, her voice pitched lower. 

My brain floundered for a second before righting itself. Good God, she’s a nerd. Sadly, the fact that Miss Potts is a nerd or geek of some form made her about 900% scarier.


	10. Instinct

There was a polite knock on the doorframe, and I blushed. Oh jeez, I’d forgotten that I’d heard a person! Miss Potts looked past me, smiling at the person. No threat, probably an employee of some sort. Probably business. 

“There you are. Amaryllis, this is Miranda Gibbs. Miranda, this is Amaryllis Huntley.” Miss Potts introduced us. I looked back at her, eyes wide and a single word in my brain. 

“Miranda…” I whispered, emulating River Tam. The smell of yummy entered my nostrils and my stomach gave me a sharp shot of pain to remind me that I needed to eat something. Then, adding insult to injury, it rumbled loudly. My face is now burning. 

“It’s the Pax.” She said back to me, making an understanding face and nodding. Holy shit. Holy shit dude… there’s geeks everywhere. Miranda came forward, setting the plates she’d been carrying down on the table. Forgoing manners, I dug in. Half got separated for saving; the other half was attacked with the ferocity of teenage hunger. Partway through, Miss Potts cleared her throat. I set the plate back down on the table, blushing and horribly embarrassed. 

“Meds.” Miss Potts prompted gently, eating her lunch at a much more sedate pace. I took my stimulant med with another bite of collard greens, forcing myself to eat more slowly. Miss Potts didn't seem to be offended by my lapse in decorum. She’s probably seen worse from my father, but I want to seem the best that I can be. I suddenly noticed that Miranda had disappeared. Oh. I sat back again, even though I was still a bit hungry. The amount I've eaten is the right size for my stomach; it just needs time to send the right signal to my brain. The small clink of Miss Potts setting her fork down on her plate captured my attention, and winced slightly. I do not like that sound. Miss Potts didn't seem to notice, thankfully. Being perturbed by such a small noise would make me seem weak. You are weak… whispered the inferiority complex I had yet to conquer. Screw you, self-destructive part of my brain. Oops, it would like that. Too bad killing it with fire hasn't worked. 

“These are some files of Stark Industries personnel who foster or adopt children, or have a spouse that does that. They've been sorted by locality, number of people in the household, and level of experience with special needs children. These are the top ten families, but I have more files if you want to see them.” Miss Potts said. I looked at her, not sure what I was supposed to do. Pick a file? Ask which one she likes the best? These were people made of paper, laid out in a neat grid pattern. There’s something slightly sad about that. I leaned forward, ghosting my hand over the files. My fingertips very nearly touched the paper. A small stirring of air ruffled the pages of a file just as my hand drifted over it, causing the folder to brush against my skin. It was slightly rough, but not irritatingly so. That was the file I picked up, opening to the very first page. I looked down at a printout of a scientist, his picture and basic information displayed. 

“Is this legal?” I asked Miss Potts, looking up at her. There was an odd look in her eye, one that I couldn't place. It made me nervous. 

“Well… it’s not illegal.” Miss Potts said, an odd emphasis on the last word. “All the information in those files could be found in public record, or with some creative googling.” I mulled that over for a second, my tongue moving in my mouth as I tasted all the words I could say. 

“It is against some form of convention, but not disallowed by any law. Somewhat akin to a loophole or technicality?” I asked Miss Potts, my brain whirring. She gave me a smile and nod, looking happy with my answer. I was right. I felt a lull in my body and mind, feeling a slight heaviness. My eyes slid closed as I simply let it happen. It felt like being maple syrup poured on fresh snow. I was still me, just a little bit slower. 

“Miss Huntley?” Miss Potts asked, her voice sounding a touch concerned. When I opened my eyes again her face had the right expression and she was leaning forward slightly. I gave Miss Potts a reassuring smile. 

“My meds just kicked in. It’s always interesting to feel the neurochemical shift.” I told her. Miss Potts nodded, looking as placid as ever. This woman’s more unflappable than a wingless bird. I looked back down at the file. Doctor Roman Williams. Average looking, unassuming, and apparently much smarter than people assume. He and his wife Amelia were originally from England. No children. Amelia is a part time model, interesting. 

Time stretched on like that, comparing and contrasting various people. It was exhausting, and I was feeling the edges of a headache creeping up. There was one file I kept going back to, though. Frank and Alice Longstaff. There was something special about them, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Like a memory long since passed… They were both intelligent. Frank was a chemist and Alice ran a flower shop. Something just told me these were the people. 

“You keep going back to that file.” Miss Potts noted. I liked how she was handling this, letting me go through the files and answering whatever questions I had. Sometimes Miss Potts would interject something, and I usually found the new information relevant. 

“I just… I like them for some reason. I can’t quite tell why.” I told her, looking up a little worriedly. My intuition was usually right. It’s just a matter of getting people to take me seriously about it. Miss Potts looked at me with that odd look she gets occasionally. It’s a blend of so many emotions, so many different thoughts and memories. It’s almost like Miss Potts is really seeing me for the first time, but also knows me from somewhere. 

“You've got a gut feeling about this.” Miss Potts stated, her voice in no way dismissive or demeaning. Huh. A question formed on my lips, although I was hesitant to actually say it. Miss Potts noticed this and gave me a reassuring smile. 

“Do you believe in the validity of instinct?” I asked a little hurriedly. In my nervousness I fell back on my formal way of speaking. 

“There are sometimes people just know, even without proper evidence or reasoning.” Miss Potts believed what she was saying. A smile came to my face, making my eyes crinkle a bit as relief washed over me. Miss Potts believes. It’s nice to be around someone that isn't likely to belittle my intuition. Like coming home. A part of me whispered, that little section of my brain that would tell me if people were safe of not. Miss Potts is safe. Occasionally terrifying, but safe.


End file.
